Francisco
Balquiedra Quesada born 1/29/1924 died 2/1/2008 @ a Henderson Nevada Hospital; Col.;
w/ the troop that liberated a Japanese concentration camp in Laguna Philippines PMA 1944 grad; also in the Korean War with the U.N. Airlift Operations. postwar: tireless
Filipino American Equity bill advocate; member Pres. Reagan’s U.S. Defense
Committee; International Award American Legion; wrote a testimonial for Pilipino Chinese guerrillas called the “Ampaw”
Unit of Col Chua Sy Tiao

Jose “Joe” Jaramillo Quevedo Sr. 1st Lt.
USAFFE; Death March survivor; suffered shrapnel wound on his leg. Post war: did not continue his studies at the University of the Philippines in BaguioCity. "Chief Joe" as he later became popularly known, gave
up his dream of becoming a lawyer. Instead, he helped his hometown by serving as a public school teacher, municipal secretary,
and long-time Chief of Police of Manaoag, Pangasinan
where his father Geronimo Quevedo I has earlier served in the municipal council
and where his son Jose Quevedo, Jr. had later served as Vice-Mayor of Manaoag. An older son Geronimo Quevedo II also served
as a policeman in Manaoag and Urdaneta, Pangasinan; was chief investigator @ Balatoc Mines (Benguet Consolidated, Inc); founded
Laoac Quevedo Anisca Elementary school from the land donated by his father & family (father of Loreto Q. Dimaandal of Silicon
Valley, California, a Filipino community advocate)

Claro
M. Recto(spy name Justice) working against Japanese, although he was the Minister
of Foreign Affairs of the Philippines Puppet Republic, his two sons-in-law, Francisco Mata Gomez and Johnny Ysmael were with
Rowe's group of guerrillas

Benito Rose ** born 1/8/1912; died 3/8/1993 San Francisco; buried in Golden Gate Nat Cemetery; Navy CS2, also served
in Korean War; his son (Rudy) served in
Vietnam War; his grandson (Christopher) died in Iraq

My Last Farewell

Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed, Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost,With
gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed;And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best,I would still
give it to you for your welfare at most.

On the fields of battle, in the fury of
fight,Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy,The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white,Scaffold,
open field, conflict or martyrdom's site,It is the same if asked by home and Country.

I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to showAnd at last announce the day, after a gloomy night;If you need
a hue to dye your matutinal glow,Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so,And gild it with a reflection
of your nascent light!

My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,My dreams when
already a youth, full of vigor to attain,Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient,Your dark eyes dry, smooth
brow held to a high planeWithout frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain.

My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire,Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee;Hail!
How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire;To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire,And in your
mystic land to sleep through eternity !

If over my tomb some day, you would see blow,A
simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses,Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so,And under the cold tomb, I
may feel on my brow,Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness.

Let the
moon with soft, gentle light me descry,Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light,In murmurs grave allow
the wind to sigh,And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.

Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporizeAnd with my clamor behind return pure to the sky;Let
a friend shed tears over my early demise;And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high,Pray too, oh, my Motherland,
that in God may rest I.

Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,For all those
who unequalled torments have undergone;For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried;For orphans, widows and captives
to tortures were shied,And pray too that you may see you own redemption.

And
when the dark night wraps the cemet'ryAnd only the dead to vigil there are left alone,Don't disturb their repose,
don't disturb the mystery:If you hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery,It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone.

And when my grave by all is no more remembered,With neither cross nor stone to mark its place,Let
it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scatteredAnd my ashes ere to nothingness are restored,Let them turn to dust
to cover your earthly space.

Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me:Your
atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep;Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be:Aroma, light, hues, murmur,
song, moanings deep,Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep.

My
idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,Dear Philippines, to my last goodbye, oh, harkenThere I leave all:
my parents, loves of mine,I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmenWhere faith does not kill and where
God alone does reign.

Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,Friends of my
childhood, in the home distressed;Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;Farewell, sweet stranger, my
friend, who brightened my way;Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.

Jose Rizal

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